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“Hell yeah, Adams!”
Finn fills it with twice as much this time.
I glance at Harrison, who trailed in here behind us. He looks away, grabbing a can of beer out of the fridge for himself.
I down more whiskey, the warm burn turning into numbness. The buzz is hitting me faster than usual, probably because of the pint of blood they took from me earlier. I shouldn’t be drinking at all, let alone this much.
Stupid and reckless are two synonyms for my name, though.
So I keep taking sips, the bitter five-year-old in me feeling satisfied I’m destroying the organ I might be donating.
Somehow, that feels fitting.
If I offer something to my mom, itshouldbe damaged.
The same way she mangled me and Sydney by wrecking our family.
The same way she injured my dad. If she’d stuck around, maybe he’d be alive right now.
The same way she’s messing with me, by forcing me to help her or live with the guilt of knowing I could have done something and didn’t.
I don’t just want to be different from her. I want to be better.
My glass gets drained and is filled again.
And I keep drinking.
Until I’m not thinking about my mom anymore.
Until I’m not thinking about anything.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
HOLDEN
Apounding headache is the first thing I’m aware of. I roll over in bed, my eyes blinking open blearily as a jackhammer continues working on my skull.
For the first time, I’m not looking at a dark head of hair in bed beside me.
There are blonde strands spread across the pillow next to me.
Everything in me freezes, realization and dread trickling through me like a cold stream of water.
Fuck.
I emphasize each letter in my head, ratcheting the pounding in my head up to an intolerable degree.
The pain isn’t enough.
The wordfuckisn’t enough.
I can’t think and can barely breathe. It feels like a lead weight is resting on my chest, pushing down, down, down until there’s nothing left to demolish.
I squint around the room, trying to figure out where I am and look for clues about what might have happened.
There are pink curtains covering the windows and there’s a bunch of makeup on the table beside the bed.
I’m wearing boxers, which is a small relief. But the rest of my clothes are scattered on the rug, mingled with a lacy red bra and a black dress.
